


Just a Job to Do

by Rose_of_Pollux



Series: Inktober for Writers, 2019 [24]
Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-24
Updated: 2019-10-24
Packaged: 2021-01-02 15:35:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21163985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rose_of_Pollux/pseuds/Rose_of_Pollux
Summary: In which Illya gets drunk all in the name of the mission, and Napoleon shares his secret hangover prevention remedy.





	Just a Job to Do

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by today's Inktober prompt ("dizzy").

Napoleon shook his head in disbelief as he supported his partner as they walked back up the stairs of their apartment. Illya was quite dizzy—but not without reason.

“I can’t believe it. I just can’t believe it,” Napoleon mused aloud. “Illya Kuryakin can get drunk? I didn’t think that was physically possible!”

Illya turned to him and raised his pointer finger in the air, as though he was about to explain something to him. But his drunken mind quickly lost his train of thought for a moment—but, inexplicably, two minutes later, he recovered the thought.

“Distract the THRUSHie, you said. Use any means necessary, you said. Well…” Illya hiccupped as he slurred. “…I did exactly that. I followed your advice. Everything I did, I did for the success of our mission.”

“Well, I do have to admit, it was very easy to bring that THRUSHie in after you drank him under the table,” Napoleon agreed.

“You’re welcome,” Illya said, fumbling with the doorknob of their apartment.

“But you kept drinking even after he’d passed out,” Napoleon reminded him.

“…Did I…?” Illya asked, still attempting to unlock the door. “He had his face planted in a bowl; I thought he was still drinking from it.”

“Why would he be drinking from a _bowl_?”

“Because he was drunk—and I was drunk, so it made perfect sense to me to keep going.”

“And it had nothing to do with the crowd cheering you on?”

“…I choose not to answer that question.”

He fumbled with the door a few more times because Napoleon gently took his hand and took the key from it, and opened the apartment door.

“_Spacibo, Dorogoy…_” Illya said, giving Napoleon a sweet look of admiration. “You are so very good to me. Ahh, my daughter!”

He warmly greeted Baba Yaga the cat, who paused, looking baffled at the sight of Illya looking so disoriented.

“You can greet Baba Yaga later,” Napoleon said, locking up behind him. “Right now, we need to start sobering you up so that, first thing in the morning, you’ll be ready and able to fill in the details of your half of the mission.”

“…I feel that my half of the mission can be accurately summarized as ‘It seemed like a good idea at the time,’” Illya slurred.

Napoleon guided Illya to the couch and sat him down; Baba Yaga leaped onto his lap and Illya gently gave her semi-clumsy skritches, but she appreciated them all the same.

Napoleon returned a few minutes later with a strong-smelling concoction.

“Drink this down and you should be able to sleep it off with minimal regret in the morning,” he instructed. “You’ll have garlic on your breath, but that’s a small price to pay.”

Illya arched an eyebrow at it, but drank it and placed the glass on the coffee table before turning back to his partner.

“…Your mother taught you this,” he assessed.

“…That’s right. How did you—?”

“Because she was the one running around in speakeasies disguised as a man in the Roaring ‘20s—who else would you have learned it from?”

“Touché,” Napoleon smiled. “But yes… The night I graduated high school, my childhood friend Takeshi and I, after celebrating at our usual hangouts, decided that we should finish off the celebration by attempting to mix our own margaritas.”

Illya snarked at him.

“You can guess the rest,” Napoleon finished. “But I have to appreciate Ma not having any double standards when it came to my shenanigans since she’d done her fair share of them.”

“The apple does not fall far, indeed…” Illya mused. He yawned. “And I think I shall take your advice and sleep. See you in the morning, Napoleon.”

Instead of getting up to go to the bedroom, Illya leaned over and fell asleep on Napoleon. Baba Yaga seized the opportunity to climb up to Illya’s shoulder so that she was snug between his shoulder and Napoleon’s chin, and immediately began purring away.

And Napoleon made himself comfortable; it was clear he wasn’t moving anywhere tonight.


End file.
